


The Long Game

by IncongruentDesignations



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Burn Gorman - Freeform, Conspiracy Theory brought to life, M/M, Newmann Cinematic Universe, Reading, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:52:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncongruentDesignations/pseuds/IncongruentDesignations
Summary: See, Charlie can be kind of dumb, at times. But that doesn't mean he can't read.





	The Long Game

**Author's Note:**

> It's a one shot, so I finish this. Shout out to S, who deals with my late night rambles as well as is amazing overall.

See, Charlie knows he’s got a learning disability. School hadn’t been easy for him, even before he’d been huffing enough to glue daily to kill a small child. The school counselors hadn’t been like they were now, they might have been able to tell him he had pretty bad dyslexia, and ADHD to boot.

They might have also been able to tell that having a prostitute for a mother and Uncle Jack existing at all had made his situation a thousand times worse.

But, Charlie doesn’t care. Because in spite of everything, he’d made it out of high school. He’d put the dirt grub behind him, and with Mac’s help, made it through his classes, just enough to get the minimum credits for a high school diploma (not that the gang would ever suspect, of course), and he was out of there.

But. But. The point is that Charlie _knows_ he can be kind of dumb at times. More than dumb. But not dumb enough that he can’t _read._

_…_

The whole thing was really Dennis and Mac’s fault more than anything.

There were probably places to go before ‘let’s make a Jihad video’ to scare away the guy trying to run Paddy’s out of business, but neither him, Mac nor Dennis would even know how to get into those places. Despite the messy situation, Charlie knows he’s an awesome director. He’s just got shitty materials to work with, and even shittier actors. God knows why Dee thinks she can act. Dennis is a better actor than her, and Dennis is…

Currently speaking gibberish. And not the script Charlie had written for him. Motherfucker.

“CUT. CUT. CUT. CUT. What the hell are you doing, dude?” Charlie yells.

“That’s what the tapes sound like.” Dennis says.

“Why don’t you read the script that I wrote?” Charlie asks. Dennis really isn’t taking this seriously, is he?

Dennis shakes his head. “I’m not reading the script. It’s in English, and it’s riddled with spelling errors.”

“Well, you know what I’m trying to write, just say it.” Charlie says.

Dennis refuses, continuing to make his asshole sounds and NOT read what Charlie had spent time on. How dumb were they anyways?

It’s right around then that Charlie realizes that the Jihad idea is terrible. Really. And they’ve had some terrible ideas in the past. But damn it, he’s a good director, and he’s going to make this work.

…

It doesn’t work, so he throws a flaming pile of poop into a building. And maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t such a good idea either. And then people find the tape. That was bad too. Like, really bad.

And then it’s later, and they’re waiting in line at the police station to be interviewed about why a building blew up, and the tape. They’re sitting in the cheap plastic chairs that the police and underfunded public schools have, staring at the chipped paint of the walls, while they wait for someone to come interview them. Dennis of course, is silent, probably already trying to think of a way out of their current predicament. Given  that this whole thing was Dennis’s idea in the first place, and that this is all his fault (maybe it’s not, but Charlie feels much better placing the blame right there), Charlie doesn’t really think that this is going to help much. But currently, he’s not feeling very inspired, so maybe-

The police officer walks in, and old balding man, and before he can sit down, Dennis opens his mouth.“This was all Charlie’s idea. All of it! I had very little to do with it!”

“My idea?” Charlie screeches. “You’re the one-you’re the one who wanted to do this. You never listen to what I tell you to do!”

“Because what you want to do is always stupid!” Dennis barks.

“guys, calm down.” Mac interrupts, like he’s some voice of reason. “Officer, I’m sure there’s some sort of _deal_ we can come to, if you’ll just allow me to explain, man to man-“ The officer stairs at him bewildered, as Charlie interrupts.

“Hey, I”m not stupid! If you had just read the script that I wrote for you-“

“It was complete gibberish and you know it charlie, You can’t read or write!” Dennis snaps back.

“I can so!” Charlie yells.

“No, you can’t dude. Everyone knows it.” This time it’s Mac, his best friend, the traitor, coming on Dennis’s side. Mac is like that guy who stabbed Ceasar. He’s like a gay brutus. Which Charlie knows about, because he fucking read Ceasar. And watched the movie. Okay, it’s the movie he’s quoting.

“Yes I can! Do both of you really believe I can’t - you know what, Fuck you guys!” Charlie screeches some more.

“Mr. Kelly, if you’ll please just calm down.” The police officer interrupts.

“Nobody asked _you._ “ Dennis snaps. “Charlie, it’s okay, we know you’re a complete illiterate, and a dumb ass, but this is serious.” And before Charlie can reply, the police officer is starting on some shit about fines, and prison time, and the seriousness of terrorist and jihad threats, both real and fake, but Charlie zones out.

 _Does the gang really think that I can’t read or write? Is that how dumb they really think I am?_ That old familiar gut wrenching feeling begins to gather in Charlie’s stomach, and he feels like the dirt grub he used to be. But he’s not, not know, and he’s tired of people making him feel this way. He’s smart, and he plays them all the time. And if they insist on thinking he’s such a dumbass, who is he to correct them?

They’re always such idiots, and then they act like he’s a idiot. So, what if he goes with it? He’ll act dumb for a bit, and then spin it on them, and they’ll look really, really stupid. And in the meantime…

What’s the dumbest thing he can get them to do?

…

As it turns out, he can get them to do some really dumb shit.

The speech thing is pretty hilarious. It’s true, he started small, but once he got a taste of power, or at least a taste of getting Mac to read some shit for him, it goes to his head a little. But Dennis, oh Dennis. Dennis who thinks he’s better than everyone reading his choppy fucked up speech is just the icing on what Charlie’s pretty sure is going to be a multi-layered cake. And the best part is, Charlie’s got video evidence.

It’s evidence that he’s an amazing director that he doesn’t laugh. Dennis is so stupid.

…

But then, he just can’t find a good time to, well, tell them. That he can read. And does, pretty often.  And it’s not like anyone would think to question it anyways. Frank makes fun of him when he brings a book on his ventures to see (stalk) the waitress.

“Charlie, Buddy. She knows you can’t read. There’s no point.” Frank looks disapprovingly at the book Charlie has folded in one hand. And then it hits him. _Frank doesn’t think he can read either?_ Charlie scrambles for an excuse.

“I, uh.” Charlie tries to protest. “I like the pictures.” And then Frank gives him this pitying look, like Charlie’s a little kid who thinks he’s gonna become president or something, and says “sure, buddy.” and then looks away. Charlie holds back the urge to start a yelling match, because there really isn’t time, he has to meet up with the waitress on what she refuses to acknowledge as their Monday morning dates - (she keeps calling it her shift, and telling him to _Get Lost, Charlie_ )

Charlie grabs his copy of Othello and walks out.

He thinks of the _Bad Room_ scheme a week later. The shitty writing is just a nice touch. It adds to the atmosphere, and scaring the shit outta Frank. Serves him right, too.

…

It’s kind of hassle, remembering to mess up words. Charlie considers telling them, but then they keep acting like he’s stupid, and that’s stupid, so he doesn’t.

…

Okay, so the Dance Contest thing is kind of risky.

It’d started as a joke, really. What if he signed them up for a dance competition to fight for the bar, do some of the work for a change? It’s not like any of them could dance, and Charlie would have to come in and save all of them with his amazing butt dance. Easy.

So Charlie picks up a contract, as a joke of course. It’s not like he’s actually going to sign them up for it.

And then he signs it, as a joke, without any intention of turning it in. And then. He thinks about how they always make fun of him, and make him do all the Charlie work, and how they never take him seriously, and…Charlie scribbles his signature, and gives the guy the copy of the paper, and he’s laughing to himself for a second before he realizes.

FUCK.

Charlie is not dumb, except he’s pretty sure that this is the dumbest thing he’s done this month at the very least, and now he’s fucked. They’re fucked. The bar, which is a shithole, is in danger of being given away on a dance competition. And there’s no way the gang can counter this. They’re idiots, absolute idiots. They’re going to lose the bar, and then Dennis and Dee are gonna get hooked on Cocaine again while not talking to him, and Frank is gonna kick him out of the apartment, and…

Charlie hyperventilates in a sewer for 20 minutes, and then hyperventilates on a street corner for another 10 minutes. He’s the idiot. God, he is, isn’t he?

…

They don’t lose the bar, no thanks to him. That’s when Charlie decides to cool it on the joke. The bad writing is funny. Watching the gang try and read it is funnier. Losing the bar isn’t funny at all.

…

So, he’s in a little deep. A lot deep, really. To be honest, Charlie’s forgotten what he was trying to prove. That he wasn’t dumb? Well, isn’t, but the gang still seem to think he is. In fact, they seem to think he’s dumber that they did when he started. It was only supposed to be like, a week, and then he was going to crush them with his reading skills, completely own them, and then it’d be really funny and then it’d be over.

But it’s been years now. Literal years, and he has no idea how to tell them. And if he tells them, they’ll figure out the bar thing wasn’t an accident, and they’ll probably kick him out of the gang. There’s no way out of this. He’s had to start making up really stupid spelling errors.

Like, really stupid. Like the word Pirate in place of Private. Which to be fair, was what he initially thought it had said, but on the other hand he’s had dyslexia his entire life. He’s got like, strategies. And shit.

…

And then comes the incident with the Science Bitch.

…

Because Charlie really DOES want to become smarter. Because the gang have been treating him like an idiot for years. Because the Science Bitch sounds really smart, like he might actually know what he’s talking about, which makes a nice change from literally everyone Charlie hangs around. And the guy has this weird thing where he’s convinced those weird pills he gives Charlie might actually make him smarter. And to be honest, that’s too much of a chance to give up. And he’s getting paid, and the Science guy had said something about Cheese.

It might have been, ‘This cheese is for the rats, Mr. Kelly.’ Oh well. Money, right? Charlie already pretends to be dumb anyways.

Tang See is pretty great too. He’ll speak fake Mandarin with him. Really, Charlie knows he can’t learn true Mandarin, but that doesn’t mean the gang knows that. And that doesn’t mean Charlie’s not going to rub it in their faces every chance he gets.

“Hey, do you think I’ll be able to like, read, after this?” Charlie asks the science bitch, when the man is explaining what the pills are supposed to do.

“Quite possibly.” The science bitch has a thin smile spread across his face.

“Because, uh, I think I can get that bit pretty quickly. Like, what other stuff could I do?” Charlie asks.

“Like, in regards to your intellectual abilities?” The science bitch asks.

“Yeah. Shit like that.”

“Possibly.” The science bitch has an odd expression on his face. “What would you like to learn?”

Charlie’s been getting through some Stephen King lately, because It was an okay movie, but the book was better, and he also likes ghouls. A lot. And he also likes the waitress, but he doesn’t think the Science Bitch could help with that.

“Uh. like, complicated books. and stuff.”

“Absolutely.”

“Do- Do you think I can do it?” Charlie asks, suddenly unsure of himself. The science bitch smiles.

“Absolutely, Mr. Kelly. I think you have a lot of potential.”

Charlie is grinning too. “Can I, like, get audio recordings of stuff? Cuz, like I’m doing this thing, and I can’t really read, and it’d be really cool if you were to-“

“I’m sure that could be arranged, but as the oversee-er of this project, I’m afraid I can’t get directly involved, but my assistant, Tang see will…”

And Charlie loses focus again. ADHD. Or, that’s what the science bitch had written on the paper. The Science bitch had nice fingers. Almost nicer than the waitress’s. Long. And nice handwriting. The science Bitch had nice eyes too. All deep and brown. He wasn’t as buff as Mac tried to be, or as conventionally handsome as Dennis thought he was, but the science bitch just looked nice.

Charlie wonders if the waitress would mind that he thought the science bitch looked really nice.

…

Charlie’s furious. He should have known. This was High School. This was the dirt grub. This was 9 years of living a life for a joke he didn’t even find funny anymore. The science bitch had humiliated him, and made fun of him, and now Charlie was back on his level, back to Charlie work, and everything was fucking shit.

Charlie wanted to be drunk, high, and maybe not exist at all, because at east then he didn’t think about anything. Nobody expected anything of him anyways, and that’s how it’d all started.

This time, though he doesn’t head to the sewers, or the bar, or street corners, or anywhere else the gang could expect him to be. He goes to the science bitch’s apartment. He rings the doorbell. Once. 5 times, and then the science bitch opens the door.

“You-you lied to me!” Charlie sputters.

“I did, yes.” The scientist is curt. “But so did you, Mr. Kelly. You lied to me as well. I consider us even. Good night.”

Charlie shakes his head. “What?”

“You’re a lot smarter than you tried to make us believe, so forgive me if I turned your little joke back on you.” The science bitch sounds cold. What a bitch. Charlie clenches his fist.

“Fuck you. Fuck you and your fancy words and shit. I _am_ dumb! Didn’t I just prove that to you, with your- your stunt, and making me look like a fool in front of all your science bitch friends.”

“If you looked like a fool that was your own doing.” So, yeah. Maybe Charlie had been playing to the whole, dumbass thing when he make the cat - spider thing. But that didn’t mean-

“I can’t even read, dude. You made fun of a dude who couldn’t read. That’s not even like, good science.”

The science bitch rolls his eyes. “You can read and write perfectly fine. I observed you reading my notes.”

“bullshit.”

“You act dumb, Mr. Kelly, but you wasted a perfectly good study and valuable research grant money, and made a mockery of what we were working for. I have spent years working for this, just to have some idiot come in a try to waste a few good weeks of research. If you have further complaints about the way our study was contested, you may bring it up with my research assistant, Tang see. Good night Mr. Kelly.”

Charlie catches the door as the Science bitch attempts to close it in his face,

“I didn’t mean to ruin your research, okay? It’s just-“

“Just what.” The science bitch is less cold now, but Charlie’s heart is racing.

“Okay, fine. You got me. I can read. And write. But my friends, they don’t know and they can’t know, so I played dumb. I’m sorry.” The confession sounds stilted on his tongue, but it’s like a breath of fresh air. “I didn’t mean to ruin your survey, it’s just…my whole life people have treated me like I’m dumb. And I got used to playing to it, you know? And then I got high, and that felt better, because then I felt like I was laughing with people, not just being laughed at. And, I thought maybe if I was the one making the joke-“

“What joke, Charlie?” The scientist asks.

“You know. Look at stupid Charlie! He eats dirt! He can’t read! What a retard! That it’d be funny to me too. And in front of my friends, I can’t let them know that I’m smart.”

“Why not?”

“Because they don’t like me when I’m smart. They just like me when I look dumb so they have something to laugh at, so I try to make them look dumb. And it’s funny. Sometimes. A lot of the time.”

“So you play them, because they think they’re playing you.” The science bitch muses. He’s drumming long fingers over the door frame, like a nervous tick.

“Yeah, dude. I don’t expect you to get it. The point is, I’m dumb, sure. I make mistakes. It wasn’t…wasn’t about your stupid ass study though. ” Charlie looks at the ground.

“I see.” The science bitch says, evenly. “Would you like to come in?”

“Wait, what?” Charlie sputters,

“I asked if you would like to come in. I think I would like to hear more about these friends of yours, and I’d like to hear more about you.”

“Wait, Why?”

The science bitch pauses, thinking. “It’s not another study, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d, if you’d be amenable to it, like to get to know you.”

“What’s amenable mean?” Charlie can’t help it. Force of habit.

The scientist just looks at him with one of those piercing stares, that say clearly, _Don’t play dumb._

Charlie shrugs, and then follows him inside, amenably.

…

The scientists apartment is neat, orderly, and kind of barren, like someone who didn’t expect to be staying there long, though a worn calendar on the wall had been posted over several from years past. The scientist placed his jacket neatly on one of the two chairs that were gathered around a smooth dark table, and then gingerly sat down on the single couch parked on the other side of the room.

The scientist had taken off his shoes. Charlie wondered if he should do the same. He _had_ walked through the sewers yesterday, Dee had been complaining about the smell…Just to be safe. Charlie set his shoes by the door, and sat on the scientists couch.

“Would you like something to eat?” The scientist asks politely.

“Uh, yeah. Something cheesy if you have it.” Charlie answers.

“Just a moment.” The scientist orders pizza, asking for extra cheese. Charlie nods appreciatively.

“So. Those, people. Who were at the study, they were your friends?” The scientist asks.

“Yeah, dude. I think they just came to see if you could actually turn me smart, not that you were actually doing that, but. It was nice. I guess.” Charlie replies. “What was in those intelligence pills you were giving me, anyways? And why was I the only trial participant?”

“Ah. Sugar, mostly. It was a test of the placebo effect. And you’re right, human trials usually need a much larger sample number which we were hoping to accomplish in groups. But after your friends came in, and you filled out your paperwork with completely bogus information, well, I improvised.”

“By setting me up. Which doesn’t explain one thing.”

“Which is?”

“If the research trials were so important, then why not just kick me out of them? Why make the effort? Why send Tang see on a bogus recording trip.”

The scientist shifts uncomfortable. “Yes. It wasn’t my finest Idea, but it was worth it at the time. You’re right. I could have kicked you out, easily. But, to be perfectly honest with you, this study, and everything associated with it is entirely a waste of everyone’s time. It’s busywork. It’s proving something that’s already been proven, and they’ve got me working on it as a way to put me off to the side when they don’t want to deal with me.”

“So that whole thing with the public humiliation thing?”

“Was more for their benefit than for yours. I do apologize. I didn’t think you would emotionally suffer from having a ruse you had already been working very hard to keep going to backfire in your face.”

Charlie nods. “It was a dick move.” (Though Charlie feels the last of his anger fading away. Who is this guy, anyways?)

The scientist seems to agree. “I can’t say it wasn’t.”

“Wait, so did the bullshit study thing work? Did you get to shove it in their faces?” Charlie asks.

The scientist nods. “Our entire program is about to get defunded, and I, as well as everyone on this ridiculous project, will be sent to other departments. In this case, everyone wins.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I really thought I was getting smarter.” Charlie finally says.

“I’m sorry. If it helps, I think you already possess a great deal of intelligence. Even if you were trying to play it to your own advantage.” The science bitch replies, reclining back on the sofa. Another beat.

“So, the short man, Mr. Reynolds, whom you live with. Is he your father?” The scientist asks carefully.

Charlie shrugs. “Kinda? I mean he did kind of try to get me aborted, which was totally not cool, and there’s a bit of confusion there cuz he’s really-“

The scientists eyes widen. “WHAT? Christ, what the hell-” He says, and then takes a breath. “If you would, uh, elaborate, Mr. Kelly.”

“Yeah. Uh.” Charlie suddenly feels off kilter. “So, funny story, actually.” Charlie starts, in a story he’s starting to think might not actually be that funny. The way the science bitch is reacting.

They talk about Frank, and the rest until the pizza arrives.

The pizza is good, delicious even. And they talk about the gang, afterwards, too. The scientist listens intently, interjecting only for questions, and occasionally to compare whatever notes Tang see had taken to what Charlie was saying.

…

A few hours later, they talk in the doorway. Charlie doesn’t really want to leave, but the gang will start to genuinely worry if he doesn’t come back at least, before the morning, and if they worry, they’ll do some weird shit. And he’d like to avoid that, for now.

“Charlie, I’d like to see you again, if that’s alright.” The science bitch says as Charlie pauses on his way down the steps.

“Absolutely, dude. This was great. Tomorrow?” Charlie grins.

“Tomorrow.” The science bitch replies, with another one of those thin smiles.

It’s only afterwards that Charlie realizes that he’s really stopped calling him Science Bitch, but he doesn’t know the guys actual name. Which, he could have read on the papers he had been leafing through. If he’d thought to look. Damn it.

…

Charlie stumbles in to his and Frank’s apartment late that night.

“Hey, kid, where’ve ya been?” Frank asks.

“Sewers.” Charlie mumbles, before grabbing a can of cat food.

…

Tomorrow, ends up being every other day that week. And every other day that week ends up being pretty regularly. The scientist invites Charlie to his office at the college, and they end up eating lunch together every other day, when the Scientist isn’t busy and Charlie isn’t being roped into other things.

The scientist is unlike anyone Charlie’s ever met. He’s kind and considerate, and intelligent far beyond anyone Charlie’s ever met, and just a little bit manipulative and for this reason, Charlie wants him as far away from the gang as possible.

The scientist, - and he has a name, it’s Burn - takes him to restaurants. He seems to soak up everything about Charlie and pass little judgements. Once, he takes Charlie to a Wallmart, and insists on buying Charlie tooth paste. And A few shirts without holes in them, too.

“Dude, I don’t brush my teeth. Why would I use this?” Charlie protests.

“Because I bought it for you.” The scientist explains shortly.  There’s something to that, and so maybe Charlie brushes his teeth every couple days or so. It’s more than he used to, at least.

…

It’s honestly a relief. After years of having to pretend he can’t even read, being with Burn is like a breath of fresh air. Charlie hasn’t felt bad enough to get high off his ass in weeks, and it’s mostly due to the fact that he’s got things to do more than hang out in sewers.

 

Not that he’s stopped hanging out in sewers as well. Sewers are great. You find all sorts of great crap down there.

The scientist seems to like him, as well. He listens intently to things that usually get dismissed as stupid, and he takes Charlie out to movies and restaurants. He even takes him to this fondue place, which is expensive but has so many types of cheeses Charlie thinks he’s moved to rat heaven.

Or Charlie heaven. Is there a difference? The scientist has a definite opinion of yes, there is, but Charlie’s still unsure.

Back at the bar, Charlie keeps forgetting to be dumb. He uses ‘inexcusable’ in a sentence. He wears a shirt without holes in it. Even Dee is starting to get suspicious, and she’s a bird. Charlie’s really trying to find it hard to care.

All of this is getting kind of dangerous.

Really, really dangerous.

…

The whole Cat food and huffing glue thing isn’t something Charlie had actually counted on coming up. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but if you lived where he did, there really wasn’t much of a better option. Plus, it was dumb, and gross, and Charlie, so who cared?

Well, Burn did, apparently.

It was late, right after a long day at the office and a long day at the Bar. Charlie had taken him up to the apartment while Frank was out, and had been trying to show him around. The scientist looked close to gagging, and to be honest Charlie was starting to wish he’d cleaned up a little.

“Are those…half eaten cans of cat food?” Burn asks.

“Uh, yeah dude.”

“But you don’t appear to own a cat.”

“No. No. they’re to help me sleep. Like the glue. You live around here, you get all you can get.” Instead of placating the scientist, this seems to just make him paler.

“Charlie, I need you to listen to me. You must stop huffing glue, and eating cat food. It’s unhealthy, and it’s dangerous.” The scientist has taken a step closer, and has a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie is torn for a moment, between wanting to get even closer, and then listen to what the guy’s actually saying.

“Don’t tell me what to do, man.” Charlie decides on.

“It’s unsafe, I’m only worried about your health.” Burn argues.

“No, you’re trying to manipulate me again, just like the study!” Charlie argues with a touch of heat.

“If stopping you from killing yourself by 40 is manipulation, then I suppose I am.” Burns voice is quiet, even. Intense.

“Fuck off dude. Get out.” Charlie barks, and then the scientist does something none of any of the gang members would even consider.

He leaves. Charlie feels sick.

…

The next few weeks are harder. Charlie makes more of an effort to pretend to be dumb, huffs so much glue he’s not coherent most days, and when he gets too lucid, he drinks that away too.

He misses Burn, like crazy.

The gang doesn’t get it. He doubts they even notice it. Charlie’s starting to feel like a rat again, running around in circles. He’s starting to wonder when the bashing stick is finally gonna hit.

…

Then comes the Health Inspection. It comes on a surprisingly lucid day, and Charlie remembers that he _does_ care about something more than bashing rats, and that’s keeping the bar. But Charlie knows the bar. He knows it’s innards, and it’s ticks, and if there’s one thing he can do above all else it’s put up a front and so that’s what he does.

The whole design had required finesse, and skill, and charm, and a large amount of luck, but in the end, they made it. Watching Dee fall on her ass was just the topping on a really great cake.

Charlie is flying. Soaring. He did it. And no amount of Dennis’s narcissism could bring him down. In fact, it’d been a spark of goddamn genius. Charlie is over the moon, and he doesn’t care who knows it. Well, he cares a little. The moment he gets outside, he pulls out his phone, Burn’s number already dialed in and hesitates.

It’s been three weeks. Does Burn even want to talk to him? Without really making the conscious decision, Charlie finds himself hit the call button.

The phone buzzes in his hand, and Charlie is buzzing with anticipation. It rings, once, twice and Burn picks up.

“Charlie? Are you alright?” His accent is still sophisticated and shit.

“Yeah. Yeah, man. Look, I just wanted to say, I’m sorry. For kicking you out. It was uncalled for, I was just angry, and you didn’t deserve that.”

“Oh. Charlie.” Charlie kind of wishes he’d stop saying his name, because it’s entirely different from the way anyone else says his name, almost reverent. “It’s alright. It’s absolutely alright. Do you want to-“

“Yeah man. Meet me at the apartment. We passed the bar inspection. It was insane, but I managed to pull it through, and this stupid chicken scheme that Dennis and Mac and Dee had set up. Dude, I’ve got so much to tell you.”

“Oh you clever boy.” Burn breathes into the phone. “I’m proud of you. I’ll be right over.”

…

20 minutes later, Charlie is waiting at the front door of his apartment when the scientist gets out of a cab.

“Dinner tonight?” Charlie asks, unable to keep from smiling.

“Absolutely.” Burn nods, a little awkwardly, but 100 percent science bitch. “But first.” Burn steps closer, hesitantly. “I would like to ask your permission, I was wondering.” The scientist adjusts his footing, fiddling with his hands. “May I kiss you.”

Burn looks adorable, his hair stuck up and out of place. And Charlie would be lying if he admitted that this, perhaps, was exactly what he wanted, had wanted for a long time.

“That’s gay.” Charlie says instead.

The scientist’s gaze falls. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I believe I read the situation wrong, and-“ Charlie shuts him up, bridging the distance between them, and pressing his lips to the scientists, curling his hands in the scientist’s, and all of a sudden he’s really glad he was coherent enough to brush his teeth today.

The kiss itself is cool, and it’s chaste, and it  sends Charlie’s neurons firing.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.” Charlie breathes.

“Quite.” The scientists looks away quickly.

“Is, that. You like me?”

“I had thought, thought it was obvious. I had thought I had misread the situation, “

Charlie cuts him off. “Nah, you dumbass. I like you too. I was just waiting for you to figure it out.”

“you were?”

“Of course I was man, I’m smart.”

Burn kisses Charlie this time.

“Look, I figure, I don’t want to huff or eat cat food when you’re here, anyways. And I can’t promise I’ll stop doing it completely, but I’ll try. Cuz I like you that much.” Charlie says, quickly.

“We’ll talk about it, Charlie. But I like you too.” The scientist confirms.

“You wanna get dinner, now?” Charlie asks.

“Dinner.”Burn Confirms.

…

See, Charlie’s _not_ stupid. One day, he’s gonna have to come clean about all of it. The reading, the writing. The fact that he’s, well he’s pretty sure he’s dating the science bitch.  

Right now, though, none of that matters, because Charlie’s happier than he can remember being in a long time.

  
  



End file.
